Finding Home
by ZoetheBrave
Summary: Aoife is a Celt who was sold into servitude at a young age. When Ragnar Lothbrok and his men raid her village, she is taken as a slave and must find a place for herself among the Northmen. Rated M for later chapters. Eventual Torstein/OC. Very slight AU in which Aslaug never comes to Kattegat.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, dear readers! This is a little something that I've been adding to here and there on the side when I'm struggling with my other works. It may not be updated regularly, but I have most of it planned out. Not everything will be canon or historically accurate, so please don't leave angry feedback if you think something it out of place. The main character's name is Aoife (pronounced ee-fa) and she is basically the only thing I own._

* * *

When the screaming began in the darkness of the morning, Aoife was already awake. It was only a few moments later that her master burst through the door to her shabby room, eyes wide and rolling in a pale face that was glazed with sweat. Aoife backed away, watching the man warily.

"_You_!" he roared, filling the doorway. "You brought these heathens to our shores, didn't you, _witch_?! Now we shall all pay for your wickedness! I should have gotten rid of you while I had the chance!"

He lunged for the girl's throat, fingers curved like claws. Aoife ducked under his arms and leaped onto her narrow cot, hands scrabbling under her thin pillow. Her master grabbed her ankle and pulled her toward him, spouting curses at her and promising her death.

Unfortunately for the tavern owner, his servant was one step ahead of him, as always. Aoife thrust upward with the dagger she had stowed under her pillow, sliding the razor sharp metal between her master's ribs and into his heart. The blade cut through his flesh like butter. Warm blood splashed in fat drops on her face and neck, dripped down her arms, and stained the blue wool of her dress.

"_Go to hell, you bastard_," the girl hissed at his corpse, pushing his weight off her and onto the floor.

Hearing the screams intensify in volume and frequency, Aoife leaped from the cot, dagger still in hand, and darted around the room, throwing all of her belongings into a leather satchel, which she then slung over her shoulder. Distantly, she heard the smashing of pottery and the sharp crackle of flames. The village would soon be destroyed, and her along with it, if she didn't find a way to escape. Contrary to her former master's belief, she did not summon the invaders and did not much wish to meet them.

Slipping from her room, Aoife descended the rickety stairs to the tavern and hurried to the trapdoor behind the counter that led to a small cellar. Creeping along, she reached her hands blindly before her until they made contact with the small hatch that would lead her outside. With caution, she lifted the hatch a few inches and peered out into the alleyway between the tavern and the blacksmith's house behind it. All was clear, save for a body lying in the mud a few feet away.

Aoife waited another moment, just to be sure, before slipping out of the cellar and into the alley. Dagger gripped tight in one hand, she crept toward the end of the alley that was lit with an orange haze, hoping the smoke from the flames would hide her. Peeking around the corner, she caught sight of large figures a few houses down, kicking in doors and cutting down villagers as they tried to flee.

Whispering a prayer to the gods, Aoife took a deep breath and darted into the street, quickly disappearing behind the midwife's house, which was also ablaze. She sprinted as fast as she had ever done, but when she turned the corner to the road that would take her out of the village and into the cover of the woods, she came face-to-chest with what was easily the tallest woman she had ever seen. Considering Aoife herself was not that tall and larger women were not all that uncommon, this woman surpassed them all.

Her blonde hair was pulled back into many braids, some stained with ash and blood. She was dressed in trousers and a tunic with leather armor, as Aoife herself had done when she was among her people in the north. A sword glittered in her fist and a wooden shield sat proudly on her arm. She was a goddess of war.

Surprised, the warrior took in the sight of the girl before her. Wild red curls tumbled around a face that was spattered with fresh blood. Her eyes, one blue and one green, were wide in a bloody face, and a long dagger was clenched in her right fist. Her dress was stained and torn, exposing her shoulder and her right leg up past her knee. She had the look of one who had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time and never gained it back. She was a curiosity.

The two remained still, observing each other cautiously and with no small amount of interest. Aoife was terrified, heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes darted around for a means of escape, but her hopes were in vain. Approaching the women was a man who bore a shield and an axe that dripped with blood. Aoife was fast, but not fast enough to get past two northmen, so if their plan was to kill her, she would not go down without a fight. She raised her dagger higher.

The woman lowered her sword slightly as the man reached her and said something to him in a tongue Aoife had never heard before. The man replied in the same language, eyeing Aoife with interest.

"Do not be afraid," he then said in the Saxon tongue, startling Aoife so much she almost dropped her blade.

"We will not hurt you," he continued, stepping towards her. Aoife stepped back, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Who are you?" Aoife demanded.

The man slid his axe into his belt and lowered his shield.

"I am Ragnar Lothbrok. This is Lagertha, my wife. What is your name?"

Aoife looked between the two for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

"I am Aoife," she finally replied.

The woman, Lagertha, sheathed her sword and took a step towards Aoife as well. Out of instinct, the girl made to retreat again, only to crumple to the ground, unconscious, when another northman appeared from behind and struck her upon the head with the edge of his shield.

* * *

When Aoife came to, she became instantly aware of three things: that the back of her head felt like a horse had trampled it, that her bag was missing, and that she was on a boat. The last realization made her headache fade slightly under the panic of being in an unfamiliar place. She sat up slowly, afraid of what she would see when she looked over the side of the boat. To her dismay, land was nowhere in sight. They were surrounded by endless water.

"Aoife!" a woman's voice called, causing the girl to whip her head around. She winced at the throbbing of her head and squinted up at the approaching form of Lagertha.

The woman reached down and pulled Aoife to her feet, uttering what sounded strangely like an apology to the girl as she gently ran a pale hand over the back of her head. Aoife winced as the woman from the north touched the bump on her skull and flinched away.

"**Come**," she said to Aoife, pulling her toward the back of the ship. As they went, Aoife noticed a few others from the village, hands bound and ropes around their necks, marking them as captives. Strangely enough, she remained unrestrained.

When Aoife passed the miller's wife, the older woman spat at her, cursing her name and blaming her for their fate.

"Witch!" she screeched. "Heathen bitch! You've ruined us!"

Aoife stepped back from woman in surprise, bumping into a large man who steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. Lagertha, to her great surprise, knelt in front of the woman and smacked her across the face.

"**You are a slave now**," she hissed. "**You will never do that again or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the pigs**."

Neither woman understood her words, but her meaning was clear.

Standing, Lagertha motioned for Aoife to follow her again. Before she moved, however, Aoife could not help but put in a final word.

"What harm have I ever done you, Hilda, wife of Aelwyn? Do you forget who it was that helped bring your grandchildren into this world? Was it not I who healed your husband when he was on the verge of death? Perhaps it was your ungratefulness that sealed your fate. The gods brought you here, woman, not I. Remember that."

The hands on her shoulders let go and Aoife turned to look at the man who she had bumped into. He was easily one of the largest men she had ever seen, with a broad chest and arms that looked as though they could snap her in two. He had blonde hair and a beard to match. Although his size was intimidating, Aoife couldn't help but notice that he had kind eyes that were now gazing upon her with something akin to awe. Nervous, Aoife gave him a hesitant smile before hurrying to Lagertha's side.

The warrior woman led Aoife to her husband, who was sitting at the stern, whetstone and axe in hand. When he caught sight of the women, he set them down and leaned his forearms on his knees.

"I am sorry," he said to Aoife, surprising her yet again. "I apologize for my brother, Rollo. He is the one who hit you." He gestured to a dark haired man who was rowing a few yards away. "He is sometimes…too much?"

Aoife just nodded curtly.

"What are you going to do with me? And where are my bag and dagger?"

Ragnar Lothbrok leaned back against the side of the boat, observing her.

"I am sorry," he said, "but you are now a slave. Your belongings are part of the hoard that will be divided among our crew."

Aoife, having expected a similar answer, felt only bitter resignation.

"Whose slave am I to be?" she asked, voice flat.

Ragnar looked carefully at Aoife for a long moment, taking in her appearance, before standing suddenly. He took a step towards the girl, sharing a glance with his wife.

"May I?" he asked Aoife, reaching for the torn shoulder of her dress.

The girl stiffened but nodded her consent before clenching her jaw and looking away. The northman was gentler than she would have supposed as he pulled the torn fabric away from her shoulder, revealing more of her skin. She heard Lagertha let out an angry hiss and knew that the woman and her husband could see the mottled purple and black bruises that covered the pale skin of her shoulders, back, and upper arms. The woman also crouched beside Aoife and parted the torn fabric of her dress, revealing similar bruises on her legs.

Aoife, head still turned away, could see the large man from earlier watching her. If she didn't know any better, Aoife would almost have said that he looked concerned.

Standing, Lagertha said something in her native language, which her husband translated.

"She wants to know who did this to you. Was it one of our people?"

The tone of his voice and the look on Lagertha's face made it very clear that if it had been one of the northmen, they would be facing swift punishment.

"It was not one of your men," Aoife replied, voice low. "The man who did it is dead, and that is all that matters to me."

The northman repeated her words to his wife, who nodded, satisfied. Before Ragnar let her return to the front of the boat, he had Lagertha fetch her a blanket, which the woman wrapped around Aoife's thin shoulders.

"I am sorry," Ragnar repeated once more, this time for more than the bump on her head.

Aoife believed he really was.

* * *

It was three more days before they finally reached their destination, a place that Ragnar told her was called Kattegat. The new slaves were unloaded first, thrust roughly onto the dock and tugged along until they were out of the way of the northmen and their families. Aoife watched the happy reunions with a blank face. Although she remained unbound, she was carefully monitored. She was still a slave, to be sold to the highest bidder like so much meat.

Once all of the precious metals had been unloaded from the ship, the slaves were tugged along their leads toward the largest building of the town. Aoife found herself in step with Lagertha, who offered her a small smile and clasped her shoulder before continuing on to her husband. Aoife could only wonder why the northmen's leader and his wife were so kind to her when she was still meant to serve them as a slave.

The dividing of the bounty went by quickly. Though Aoife tried to discover who claimed her possessions, she quickly lost sight of the leather satchel and had not even glimpsed her dagger. Finally, the last of the gold pieces were distributed. It was time for the slaves to be sold.

Aoife felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. She was about to be sold once again, most likely to a man who would abuse his power over her. She had already survived being beaten for years on an almost daily basis; Aoife was not sure she could do it again.

Ragnar Lothbrok stood on the dais at the head of the room, as their Earl, and peered down at the group of cowering Saxons before him.

"**We have many slaves to sell today**," he announced, eliciting cheers from his audience. "**However, there is one matter to address before we proceed**."

Aoife could not understand the words spoken in his native tongue, which only made her anxiety worse. She remained unbound. Perhaps if she ran now, while everyone was distracted…

A glance around the room, however, showed her that not everyone was distracted. Lagertha watched her with a tiny smile on her face, leading Aoife to wonder just what there was to be happy about regarding her particular situation. Perhaps she would buy her? Aoife didn't think that would be so bad.

"**Torstein Dalgaard has forsaken a portion of his gold and silver in exchange for the girl Aoife!**" Ragnar exclaimed.

Aoife's head jerked up at the sound of her name. She stared at Ragnar with wide, panicked eyes, and he smiled back at her in return.

"In exchange for denying a portion of our bounty," the Earl spoke directly to her in the Saxon tongue, "Torstein Dalgaard has asked for you instead, Aoife. He is your new master; go to him."

He gestured to a man standing at the foot of the dais and Aoife was shocked to see that it was the same man whom she had bumped into on the boat a few days previous, the one with the kind eyes. But why had he asked for her specifically? Aoife could make no sense of it.

So, she slowly made her way to his side and bowed before him.

"Master," she murmured, staring at the floor.

The large man took her shoulders and gently pulled her up. Her face was level with his chest, the top of her head not even high enough to reach his shoulder. He smiled down at her.

"**Come**," he said, leading her to a large table filled with others she remembered from the boat.

He motioned for her to sit. Aoife obeyed, settling delicately on the wooden bench across from a girl with wavy blonde hair and eyes rimmed with kohl. Her master, Torstein, gestured at the others around them and offered their names.

Helga was the girl across from her, settled closely besides Floki. Rollo, the man who had hit her over the head was seated next to Siggy, while Arne and Athelstan were farther down the table. Torstein did not point out the rest, for food was soon brought out to the tables, eliciting roars of approval from the men throughout the room. Aoife ate little, instead preferring to watch the people around her. She would need to learn their language and customs quickly so as not to displease her master. It was to be the start of a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's chapter two! Just a warning, all of this is basically a rough draft. As it's not my main focus at the moment, I haven't taken the time to reread and fix mistakes, so if you spot any, that's why. I'd also like to thank the two people who reviewed the first chapter; you're lovely, really!_

_Also, I know woad was used for dying fabric and such, and there's speculation about whether or not Celtic tribes used it to paint their bodies, but for the sake of this story, they did. It's also no good for tattoos in reality, but let's just ignore that too._

_Disclaimer: I only own Aoife._

* * *

After the northmen had eaten and drunk their fill, they began to disperse, eager to be home with their families. Torstein touched Aoife's arm, gesturing that they were leaving as well. The man bid farewell to his friends, drained his cup of ale, and headed for the doors, Aoife following dutifully behind him.

While Aoife was looking around at all of the carvings in the wood of the hall, she was vaguely aware of her new master stopping to pick up a cloth sack, which he slung over his shoulder.

_It must be his gold, _the Celt assumed, and gave it no further thought.

The large Northman glanced back to make sure his new slave was still following him before turning towards a path that took them past the houses of the village and into the woods beyond. The sun was slowly sinking towards the mountaintops that surrounded Kattegat, casting long shadows over the wooden homes and the boats anchored in the water.

They walked for a short while, treading deep enough into the woods as not to be called part of the village, but close enough that they were not quite independent of it. Finally, Torstein turned a corner and disappeared from Aoife's sight. The girl warily hurried after him, only to stop short to keep from bumping into his back.

Her master was turned towards her, watching her face as she stared past him at what was to become her new home. It was, if Aoife had to describe it in a word, charming. The wooden cabin was sturdy and obviously old, the roof was covered in moss, and there were beautiful carvings on the eaves and around the doorway. There was a large pen farther beyond the house, from which Aoife heard the lowing of cattle and the noises of pigs and goats. A small stall beyond that housed a gorgeous grey mare. Aoife smiled; she hadn't had the freedom to ride a horse since her father sold her to the tavern owner to pay off his debts.

Torstein watched the girl with a small smile, pleased that she seemed to enjoy the sight of his home. He had not needed a slave, but after he saw this young woman he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her sold to another master, one who would treat her cruelly. He had seen the bruises on the boat and heard that she had killed her former master who had beaten her. He admired her strength and courage.

Moving forward once more, Torstein approached the house, beckoning to Aoife as he went. The girl followed obediently, taking in every detail of her surroundings.

The inside of her master's house was plain. The furniture was well made and sturdy, and besides weapons hanging on the walls, there was not much in the way of decoration. Once inside, Torstein bustled around, clearing old dishes from the table and blushing as if he were embarrassed by the state of his home. Aoife found it quite endearing and hurried to take the dishes from him, giving him a hesitant smile. He smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners.

While Torstein set his bundle on the table and unloaded his weapons, Aoife retreated outside to search for a source of water. She didn't have to search long before she came to a stream, into which she dipped the bucket she had grabbed along the way, filling it. She then returned to the house, fetched the dishes, and settled down to scrub them clean after having hunted down a washrag.

Truthfully, Aoife did not mind household duties like cleaning or cooking. Her favorite activities were in fact archery and knife throwing, but before her life was turned upside down by forced servitude, she had dreams of being a mother and managing a nice little home. It was the injustice of being sold like chattel and the cruel manner in which she was treated, as nothing more than a dog, which had sparked her hatred of serving another. As much as she hated to admit it (as she was still a slave), her new master did not seem so bad.

When she was finished with the dishes, Aoife tossed the dirty water and made her way back inside. Her master was in the far corner of the room, laying some furs and blankets on the wooden floor. Aoife could see that he had also strung a line across two of the ceiling beams, from which a thin curtain was now hanging.

Aoife searched around for a few moments before spotting a small cabinet that held a few other dishes. After putting her load away, she found a broom tucked away in a corner and began sweeping the floor dutifully. When she finished, she stood beside the table, awkward with no further tasks.

Her master, having finished his little project, made his way over to the table, upon which the cloth sack rested. With a glance over at Aoife, he tugged open the strings that held it closed and reached inside. Aoife watched with no small amount of interest as he deposited gold coins, trinkets, and other such riches upon the worn wooden surface. When he placed the last item onto the table, however, Aoife let out a surprised gasp.

Torstein watched, pleased, as Aoife's eyes lit up with joy when she caught sight of her satchel. She made a small, jerky movement towards it before seeming to remember something that stopped her. She folded her arms before her, each hand grasping an elbow, before looking up at him. Torstein smiled and pushed the satchel closer to her, gesturing that it was for her.

Aoife beamed up at the blonde Northman and pounced on the satchel. Inside was everything, as she had left it, with the addition of her dagger. The girl felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Holding the dagger to her chest, she turned to her new master and bowed low, thanking him over and over in her native tongue. Torstein merely smiled and clasped a hand on her shoulder in acknowledgement.

Most masters would not have bothered to retrieve a slave's possessions, or would have at least kept them for their own. Aoife knew that she was indeed very lucky to have such a master and offered a quick prayer of gratitude to the gods.

Torstein took a seat on the bench, watching as Aoife went back to digging through her bag. One by one, she set pouches of herbs, small wooden and stone containers, and trinkets upon the table. As she went, Aoife showed him each herb and tried to mime what its purpose was. Yarrow for open wounds, peppermint for upset stomachs, and so on. He seemed to understand her well enough.

The biggest pouch, however, contained something of more sentimental value than medicinal. When Aoife showed him the hoard of woad, she pointed to the graceful blue lines that marked her skin and then mimed putting on war paint. This seemed to interest the Northman the most.

He gently grabbed Aoife's wrist, pulling her closer to him so as to inspect the tattoos that crept up her arm. He traced them with a large finger, fascinated by the deep blue color, before looking up at his slave and gesturing to his own arms. Aoife understood that he was asking if she would tattoo him as well. She nodded, smiling. Torstein smiled back.

* * *

Aoife later discovered that the pile of furs and blankets she had seen Torstein laying down earlier was to be her sleeping place, and that the curtain was for her privacy. She was touched by his thoughtfulness. Compared to life in her old town, she seemed to be more of a companion than a slave. She could live with that. For a time, at least.

Her master latched the door for the night and offered a few more unfamiliar words to Aoife before settling down on his own furs on the other side of the room. Aoife murmured a goodnight in her own tongue before drawing the curtain around her corner.

As she lay on her furs, Aoife contemplated her situation. Yes, she was a slave, but her master seemed genuinely kind. She was far from her homeland with no chance of returning on her own. She did not know the culture, the language, or the land, so running was out of the question for the time being. Would it be better to stay?

Aoife fell asleep, pondering.

* * *

When she awoke, Aoife could hear her master moving around the cabin. The curtain that hid her from view fluttered in a light breeze and sunlight brightened the room. The girl stretched, pleased to feel that her bruises were not so painful. A quick inspection revealed them to be mostly green-yellow and light purple, meaning that they would be gone completely in a few more days.

Aoife reached over for her satchel and dug out the only other dress she possessed, dark green homespun wool. Checking the curtain once more, she pulled her ruined dress over her head and looked down at her shift. It would have to go as well.

With a sigh, Aoife pulled the new dress over her head and laced up the front, pulling it extra tight to make up for the lack of shift. Thankfully she had lost enough weight over the past few months that the bodice covered everything essential. Forgoing her shoes, she bundled up her shift and dress and slipped through the curtain only to come face to chest with her master.

Torstein shifted awkwardly before taking a step backwards. In his hands was a sizeable bundle of cloth, which he lifted to show Aoife with a smile. He said something to her, but the only words she caught were 'Lagertha' and 'Siggy.' When Aoife didn't move to take the parcel from him, he gestured towards her again.

The Celt frowned in confusion, moving to set the soiled fabric down on the bench nearby before reaching out slowly for the bundle. Laying it on the table, Aoife carefully untied the strings that kept it closed and unfolded the cloth and gasped in surprise. Contained in the parcel were three dresses, two shifts, and a nightgown. They were obviously worn, the fabric softened with time, but they were all well made and beautiful.

Stunned at the kindness of the two northern women, for Aoife assumed that that was what Torstein had tried to tell her, it was all she could do to stare at the clothes, mouth slightly open in surprise. She ran a gentle hand over one of the dresses, marveling at the beautiful shade of blue.

Finally remembering herself, she looked up at her master and said "Please tell Lagertha and Siggy that I thank them with all my heart."

When the blonde Northman tilted his head in confusion, Aoife gestured to the clothes and then placed her hand over her heart with a little bow. "Thank you," she said slowly.

Torstein smiled, seeming to understand. He nodded his head in return before moving to retrieve his bow and quiver from where they leaned beside the door. He waited for Aoife to place her new garments in her corner before gesturing for her to follow him outside.

When she was by his side again, Torstein walked her around the edge of his property, miming that she was to stay within its boundaries. When Aoife agreed, he then showed her around the animal pens, then the feed barrel. Through more gestures and unfamiliar words conveyed that the animals were to be fed twice a day.

Satisfied that Aoife understood, Torstein gestured with his bow that he was going hunting and reiterated that the girl was to stay on the property. Aoife smiled and nodded again, already contemplating what she would do that day.

* * *

Aoife ended up cleaning.

_Scouring, more like, _she thought as she leaned back on her heels and wiped her brow. Having more closely inspected the state of her new home, she determined that it was in need of a good scrub-down. And by _it, _she meant _everything._

Goal in mind, she hunted down a bar of lye soap, filled two buckets with water from the stream, and set to work. She cleaned out the ash from the fire pit in the center of the room and scrubbed soot from the stones surrounding it. Next, she dusted everything she could get her hands on and then scrubbed the benches, the table, and the cooking pots. She swept the floor again and aired out the sleeping blankets and furs, then tackled the grand task of scrubbing the floor.

That was how Torstein found her, hours later. She was on her hands and knees, skirts damp and sleeves rolled up. Her hair was in a messy knot on the top of her head and her cheeks were flushed pink with the effort of scrubbing months of dirt off the floor.

Torstein stood just outside the door, a deer across his shoulders and two rabbits hanging from his belt. Aoife had yet to notice him so he called her name to get her attention.

The Celt jumped in surprise, emitting a quiet squeak. She whirled around, springing to her feet and ducking slightly, covering her head with her arms before she realized who it was that had called her. Peeking through her arms, she smiled in relief upon seeing her master's face and relaxed. Spotting her master's kills, Aoife moved aside to let him into the house, dumping the dirty water outside before following him.

Torstein was slightly confused by her reaction to being startled before he remembered the bruises that covered her body. Setting his mouth in an angry line, he vowed never to give his servant a reason to fear him.

Torstein set the animals on the table before depositing his bow, quiver, and cloak onto their respective pegs. Aoife placed the empty bucket on the floor beside the table before going to her corner to fetch the smock that she had found bundled in with the new dresses. She pulled it on over her dress and returned to her master's side.

Looking over at the girl, Torstein held up his knife. Catching her eye, he pointed to it and uttered a word in his language. Brow furrowed, Aoife pointed to the knife as well and repeated the strange word. When Torstein nodded, she pointed again and said "knife."

"Knife," her master repeated clumsily, beaming when Aoife nodded her approval.

The burly Northman then pointed to the deer, the rabbits, the table, repeating the process enthusiastically. Aoife was happy to learn the new language; it would certainly make her life easier and quite possibly aid an escape from servitude, if she ever found one.

As Torstein worked on the deer, Aoife skinned the rabbits, pointing to different parts and asking the name for it. Her master supplied his translation and stumbled his way through the unfamiliar Saxon tongue.

The rest of the day passed in this fashion; slave and master teaching each other and beginning to break the language barrier between them. Aoife was a quick learner and Torstein was very pleased with her progress.

That evening, when Aoife bid her master a good night, she heard the Northman repeat her words confidently. A small smile remained on the Celt's lips until she fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here it is, chapter 3! Thank you __**Deathbatdrone**__ and the two others who reviewed the last chapter! I hope the rest of this story doesn't disappoint._

_Disclaimer: I still only own Aoife._

* * *

Over the next few months, Aoife learned enough of her master's language to be passably fluent. Little by little, she also learned the lay of the land, and during visits to Kattegat she learned about the culture and religion.

Helga, the lover of the boat builder Floki, had become a good friend to her, teaching her about the Northern gods and the history of their people. Strangely, Aoife found many similarities between the Northern gods and those of her childhood. It was comforting to know that perhaps such different peoples weren't so different after all.

Torstein himself often brought Aoife with him to watch the judgment of those who brought their grievances before Earl Ragnar. The Earl and his wife were very fair, and Aoife was stunned to learn that the Northern women were listened to and respected. Despite the slight bitterness that the girl carried in her heart because of her servitude, she could not help but admire the Northern people for that.

It was at one of these meetings that Earl Ragnar made the announcement that would end up changing Aoife's life forever.

"My friends," he shouted, causing the large hall to fall silent. "The summer is coming to an end and winter will soon be upon us. So, I think it is time for one final raid before the snows come!"

The roars of approval shook the rafters. Men and women alike lifted their cups of ale and cheered before toasting their lord.

"We will go West," the Earl continued. "Let us visit our Saxon friends once more. All in favor?"

The shouts of agreement rang out again.

* * *

As Aoife and her master returned home, the young woman became lost in thought.

"Aoife," Torstein said, looking over at her. He had noticed the slight frown on her face. "What is bothering you?"

Aoife looked up at the blonde Northman, thinking. Over the past few months, she and Torstein had become closer. Were it not for the difference in their statuses, she might have even called them friends. Her master was always kind to her. Once, when she had fallen ill, he had even placed a bundle of wildflowers by her bed to cheer her up. She flushed with pleasure at the memory.

"I am thinking about the raid," she finally answered, deciding to be honest.

"You are thinking about your people?" Torstein asked, frowning. His servant fit in so well with his closest friends that he sometimes forgot that she was technically still a slave. Even Floki, who did not trust many, especially foreigners, did not mind the girl as much as he pretended to.

Aoife shook her head, curls tumbling over her shoulder.

"They were _not _my people," she replied, bitter. "I am from the northern lands, one of the Taexali tribe. My people lived on the island for hundreds of years before the Saxons came and claimed it as their own. My father, may he rot in Hel, sold me years ago to pay off his debts. That is how I came to live among the Christian Saxons."

She looked back up at Torstein.

"I hold no love for the Saxon people. I am troubled because I should care that you raid their home, but I cannot find it in me to do so. I care not what happens to them, and that makes me feel coldhearted."

The man beside her snorted, shaking his head.

"You are many things, Aoife, but coldhearted is not one of them," he assured her. "I have seen the way you help others, the way you speak to them. You are a healer, and you are kind. You do not see yourself the way others see you."

Aoife flushed, pleased by his words, and looked down at her feet.

* * *

Over the next few days, Torstein and Aoife prepared for the last raid of the summer. While her master set about sharpening his axes and making new arrows to replace the ones that had broken or been lost, Aoife tasked herself with washing and mending his clothes. Once that task was completed, she carefully wrapped the biscuits and sweets that she had just finished baking and set them on top of Torstein's pack.

Her master had spent almost the entire day before hunting until he had enough meat to feed Aoife for at least two weeks. He had returned with a small elk and four rabbits, which he then skinned and smoked so the meat would not spoil before he returned.

Aoife appreciated his thoughtfulness; not everyone in Kattegat approved the idea of slaves carrying weapons, even if they were only for hunting. This way, she did not have to risk punishment for trying to feed herself.

Just as Torstein finished the last arrow, Aoife set down the large dinner she had prepared for him. Boiled onions, cabbage, and carrots, smoked rabbit, freshly baked bread with cheese, and ale would fill his belly before the raiding party set sail.

Master and slave ate together in peaceful silence as night fell upon their home. When the meal finished, Aoife got up and fetched the cloth-covered dish that she had refused to let Torstein peek at all day. Setting it on the table, she looked up at the blonde Northman with an excited smile and whisked the cloth away.

Torstein leaned forward eagerly to see what had been hidden from him all day. Inside the dish was a golden pastry, filled with berries sweetened by honey.

"It's a pie," Aoife explained, smiling at his confused expression. "A lingonberry pie!"

"But there is no meat," her master replied, still befuddled.

Aoife laughed. "There's not supposed to be any meat in it," she replied brightly. "It's a dessert. A sweet pie, for after dinner."

Torstein remained skeptical. Berries were eaten raw or in porridge, not in a pie. Pies were for meat.

"Just try it, you big coward," Aoife teased, cutting him a piece and sliding it towards him.

The Northman stared at it for a long moment before finally taking a wary bite. Aoife watched his face as it changed from uncertainty to pleasure.

"This is splendid!" he exclaimed, eyebrows lifted in surprise as he looked back up at her.

"Don't sound so surprised," Aoife retorted dryly, though she was quite pleased. "As if I would feed you anything horrid."

Torstein grunted in agreement, mouth already full of pie. Aoife scooped up the dirty dishes and turned to the basin she used for washing, hiding her smile.

* * *

When Torstein awoke the next morning, Aoife had already placed the morning meal on the table and filled the washbasin with clean water. The Northman washed the sleep from his face and wet his golden hair before sitting down to eat.

Aoife bustled around as he worked on emptying his plate, preparing something in a small bowl that Torstein could not quite make out. For once, when he was finished eating, Aoife did not immediately clear and wash the dishes, but rather merely set them aside and fetched a small basket, which she rested in the crook of her arm. She waited patiently by the door as Torstein threw his cloak over his broad shoulders and retrieved his pack and weapons.

The walk to Kattegat was silent, but not unpleasant. When the two reached the docks, however, the chatter of the raiding party and their families broke through the stillness. Torstein caught sight of Floki and Ragnar and headed towards them, calling a greeting as he went. Aoife trailed obediently behind him, smiling at Helga, who was standing beside her lover.

The two women kept each other company, watching the men load their boats and prepare them for sailing.

"It's always hard watching them go," Helga said after a while, eyes soft as they watched Floki direct others in their tasks. "I always worry that one day he won't return to me."

Aoife was struck with a sudden thought.

"Helga," she said, almost afraid of the answer, "what will happen to me if Torstein does not come back?"

The blonde glanced over at the Celt.

"Well," she replied, thinking it over. "I suppose, since Ragnar and Lagertha are quite fond of you, that you would become a servant in their household. If that does not happen, however, you will be sold again."

Aoife bit her lip. It was not as bad as she was expecting to hear, but she still did not like the odds of being sold once more. She sent up a quick prayer to the gods, asking for her master's safe return and suddenly felt very selfish before realizing that her future as a slave was not the only reason she wished for the kind Northman to return home. Aoife genuinely liked being around him, and she got the feeling that he enjoyed her presence as well.

"Aoife."

The girl squeaked and turned, having not noticed the man in question approach her.

"It is time for us to sail," Torstein said, expression serious as he looked down at her. "I trust you will be safe while I am gone, but if you need anything at all, go to Lagertha or Helga. They will help you."

Aoife nodded her agreement.

"We should be back in a fortnight, perhaps a few days longer. Please be careful."

Aoife met his eyes, touched by his concern.

"I will be fine, master," she assured him. "I can take care of myself just fine. It is I who should be worrying about _you_."

Before she could say more, she was interrupted by a shout from Ragnar, announcing that the boats were about to set sail. Aoife, reminded of her possessions, looked down at the basket she carried.

"Before you leave, I have some things for you," she said, suddenly self-conscious when Torstein turned his blue eyes back to her. Reaching into the basket, she pulled out a small leather pouch and handed it to him. "This is Yarrow and garlic, for wounds. Floki will know what to do with them should you need it." She watched as he carefully secured the pouch onto his belt.

"I also made you something for supper." She handed him a small bundle wrapped in a clean cloth. "It's just smoked rabbit and bread, but it's all I could do without making a mess."

This, Torstein took with a smile. "I am grateful," he said in return. "Thank you, Aoife."

The girl's cheeks flushed a little and she ducked her head, reaching for the last item in her basket.

"This is what I was making this morning," she confessed, fidgeting with the small wooden container in her hands for a moment before opening it and showing him its contents. Inside was a small amount of a thick blue liquid.

"It's what my people use to prepare for battle," she explained. "The woad is for protection and luck." She glanced up at her master. "And it makes them fierce."

Before she could talk herself out of it, Aoife dipped her fingertips in the blue paint and raised them to Torstein's face, gently painting two lines. The woad marked him, starting just above his left brow and falling downwards, over his eye, and trailing down his cheek, stopping just short of the corner of his mouth.

The Celt stepped back, pleased with the result.

"There," she said firmly. "That is the mark of my tribe. It will protect you on the battlefield."

After a moment, she pressed the container into his large hand and curled his fingers around it, avoiding his eyes with sudden shyness. Why had she been so bold?

"Be careful, master," she murmured just as the last call rang out for those who would sail that day. "I will see you when you return."

As she retreated to Helga, who stood a small ways away watching with curiosity, Torstein called her name one final time. Aoife turned, slightly nervous.

"Thank you," the Northman said, lifting the woad in his hand. "I am honored to receive such a gift."

Aoife blushed and bowed her head. The next time she glanced up, the boats had been boarded and the sails unfurled.

The last raid of the summer had commenced.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4! Thank you to the mystery reviewer, I appreciate it! I apologize if this story seems a bit rushed, but I'm not really going to go into minute details and take ten chapters to describe daily life in Kattegat unless it's significant to the storyline. This is just a story that I want to get out of my system and actually finish, so it might seem a little fast paced because of that. Thanks for sticking with me!_

_Disclaimer: I only own the characters not in the show (Runa, Gerd, Sigrun, etc). I do not own Vikings._

* * *

It was halfway into the second week when trouble came.

The first few days had passed in peace. Aoife found that she enjoyed having the house to herself. She took advantage of the warmer weather to air the cabin and clear it out, rearranging the limited furniture and cleaning every nook and cranny. Once she could find nothing else to clean or mend, Aoife spent her time exploring the forest around the cabin, making note of the wild herbs that grew nearby.

The morning of the tenth day, however, the peaceful silence around the cabin was broken. Aoife was busy milking the cows when she felt an unnatural stillness in the air around her. The forest was absolutely silent; not a bird or an animal was making a sound. Instantly, Aoife's guard went up. She cocked her head, listening intently.

The snap of a larger branch had her off the milking stool and bounding towards the house in a heartbeat. An animal such as a deer would not have made such a large noise and no one lived to the south of their property, leading Aoife to assume the worst. Her fears were proven justified when rough shouts rang out behind her and an axe whistled past her head only to embed itself in the side of the cabin. Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she glimpsed at least four men she did not recognize from the either Kattegat or the surrounding farms.

Aoife darted into the house, slamming the door behind her and dragging one of the heavy benches in front of it to give her a little more time. She searched the room for anything she could use as a weapon besides her small dagger, heart beating a painful tattoo against her ribcage.

Her eyes fell upon the spare bow and quiver her master kept upon the wall and her heart leapt in relief. She tore the bow from its pegs and threw the quiver across her shoulder, fumbling with the bowstring. After looping the string around one tip of the bow, she braced it against her foot and bent the bow just enough to slip the string over the opposite end. It was larger and harder to draw than the bow she had used as a free woman, but it would serve its purpose.

Just as Aoife nocked an arrow, a heavy body slammed against the door, causing the thick wood to shudder. The Celt drew the bow, finding her anchor at the corner of her mouth, and waited as the door shuddered again, moving the bench slightly. Her shoulders were screaming by the time the two burly wildmen forced their way into the cabin. Nevertheless, she quickly dropped one with an arrow in his eye.

The second man roared in anger and charged Aoife, axe raised above his head. Fumbling for another arrow in the unfamiliar quiver, the girl retreated around the table for extra time. She nocked the second arrow just as the raider leapt over the table, scattering dishes and herbs, and fired quickly before ducking away.

Her arrow buried itself in his shoulder, eliciting another roar of anger and pain, but before the man could come after her again, her third arrow caught him in the throat. Aoife was out of the house before he hit the ground.

She could hear the screams of the neighbors and saw more men over by the animal pens. Aoife quickly took them out with well-aimed arrows, already feeling the strain of using such a strong bow. Pausing only to retrieve her arrows, Aoife took off towards the nearest farm.

As most of the men were away on a raid, only the women, children, and elderly were left behind. Sigrun, the wife of one of her master's friends, and her daughter Freyja inhabited the next farm over. They were completely defenseless, and Aoife hoped that they had had time to barricade themselves somewhere safe.

She tore through the underbrush, cutting left towards the small barn, quickly killing the man who was attempting to steal the cattle inside. Hearing screams from the inside of the house, Aoife cursed and peered around the side of the barn, scoping the area. There were two men outside, shoving Sigrun around and taking turns tearing at her dress and taunting her as she wailed and tried to claw her way back to the house. The woman had blood running down her arm from a large cut and a bloody, possibly broken, nose. The loudest screams, however, were coming from inside the house, leading Aoife to deduce that Freyja, just a girl of 13, was still inside with at least one other man.

Aoife felt rage bubble beneath her skin.

"Hey!" she yelled, stepping around the barn, bow drawn. "Let the woman go!"

One of the men wrapped his arm around Sigrun's waist, trapping her arms to her sides, and pulled a long knife from its sheath on his belt. He brought the knife to her throat and spat, "Drop the bow or I cut her throat right here."

Aoife merely rolled her eyes and released her arrow, striking the man in his left eye. She had the bow drawn again before the other man could even take a step towards her and dropped him with an arrow just above his heart.

Sigrun darted towards the house, sobbing, but her legs gave out beneath her, sending her tumbling to the ground in a bloody heap. Aoife hurried over to her and pulled her up, handing her the abandoned knife.

"I'll get Freyja," she promised Sigrun, closing the older woman's fingers around the knife's hilt. "Stay here and shout for me if more come."

Sigrun nodded, left eye swelling shut. Aoife nodded back and trotted to the house, arrow already in hand. With care, she eased the door open and peered inside.

There, in the center of the room, was the last raider. He had young Freyja bent over the table, dress torn to her waist, and was trying to hold her down and unfasten his breeches at the same time. Aoife could see bloody furrows on his arms and face and felt a small degree of satisfaction that still could not dampen her rage. Freyja screamed again, thrashing against her captor. Aoife placed the arrow in her hand against the bowstring and slowly drew back on the bow.

"Hey," she called out, drawing the man's attention to herself.

The man jerked his head towards Aoife, only to receive an arrow through his head. He fell, limp, on top of Freyja, who screamed again, sobbing. Aoife hurried over to the young girl and hauled the corpse off her as she called for Sigrun. The mother charged into the house moments later and gathered her distraught daughter into her arms, weeping with her and kissing her face all over.

Aoife looked around the disheveled home until she found a blanket, which she draped over Freyja's thin shoulders. The girl looked up at her with a tear stained, bruised face and reached for her hand, hiccupping. Aoife offered her a gentle smile and squeezed her hand before looking to Sigrun. The older woman took both of Aoife's hands in hers when her daughter let go and bowed her head over them.

"Thank you," she whispered, good eye welling with tears. "We are indebted to you forever. Thank you, Aoife."

It was the first time Aoife had ever heard anyone but her master and his closest friends address her by name. She felt contentment swell within her and smiled.

"You owe me no debt, Sigrun, wife of Halvar. I am glad to protect those in need."

She squeezed Sigrun's hands before letting them go. Bustling around the home, she packed some bread and cheese and a water skin into a basket before grabbing another blanket.

"Come," she said, turning to the women on the floor. "There may still be raiders about. Take your boat and row away from the shore. I will come back for you when everything is safe, or send someone in my place."

She ushered them out the door and to the little sailboat, grabbing the axe of the dead man by the house as she went. Sigrun still had the long knife, so she tucked the axe into her belt. After making sure her charges were safe in the boat and rowing away from shore, she made her way along the water toward Kattegat.

* * *

At the next farm, over Aoife found a shieldmaiden fending off a raider, another, dead, at her feet. She recognized her as Runa, the wife of Bjarke, one of the current raiding parties, who had remained behind because she was with child. Her sword was bloody and her shield splintered; Aoife could tell that her strength was failing.

The Celt, in an attempt to distract Runa's opponent, threw the axe at him. As she was unfamiliar with such a weapon, the blade did not stick, but the impact was enough to turn his attention away from Runa long enough for the blonde shieldmaiden to cut him down.

As Aoife approached, the woman leaned on her sword, panting.

"I owe you my thanks, slave," she said between gasps. "I am not as capable as I used to be."

The Celt smiled.

"My name is Aoife," she replied, picking up the discarded axe. "You know, plenty of water and regular exercise can help."

When Runa looked up with a questioning glance, Aoife gestured to her slightly swollen belly.

"You're tired all the time, yes?" she asked, already knowing the answer. In town, she had seen the shieldmaiden stop frequently to rest when she was at the market or in the great hall. "It sounds odd, but taking long walks can help with that, and drinking a lot of water."

Runa contemplated the Celt for a moment before smiling.

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind. Now," she kicked the corpse of the second raider, "What should we do about this little problem?"

Aoife tucked the axe into her belt once more.

"We must go to Kattegat and make sure everyone is safe. Then we should find those who are able and set up a watch around the town to make sure we are not taken by surprise again."

Runa nodded, sheathing her sword and retrieving another shield from inside her home.

"Well then, Aoife," she said with a small smile. "Shall we?"

* * *

On the way to Kattegat, Runa and Aoife picked up an older shieldmaiden, long since retired from raiding but still able enough to fight, as evidenced by the three corpses littering the grass before her home. Gerd was a striking figure; her dark hair was liberally streaked with grey and her sharp cheekbones made her piercing grey eyes even more so. It did not take more than a nod in the direction of Kattegat to incite her to follow along.

When the three women finally made it to the town, they were met with the sight of Lagertha and a handful of shieldmaidens and elderly men fending off at least fifteen other raiders. Lagertha, who was also with child, was streaked with blood and grime. One of the elders had a bow and the other a shield and axe, while the maidens seemed to favor swords like their lady.

Gerd and Runa wasted no time jumping into the fray while Aoife remained a short distance away, picking off lone raiders one by one. A short while later, the ground was damp with blood and the dead littered the dirt. The old man with the shield had been stabbed in the leg, and the women had bumps and bruises, but no one was seriously injured.

The women were panting, some bent over or tending wounds, but a sense of victory hung in the air. Kattegat was safe.

* * *

Aoife was down at the beach, washing the blood off her face and arms when Lagertha approached.

"You fought well today," she complimented, crouching to wash her own face. "I am impressed, Aoife."

The Celt gave a crooked smile, exhausted from the excitement of the day. Her shoulders ached something fierce from the stress of using her master's bow.

"Thank you, my lady," she replied demurely.

"I did not know you could use a bow," the shieldmaiden remarked with a smile in return.

"Neither did the raiders," Aoife deadpanned, eliciting a laugh from her companion. The two women looked out over the water in peaceful silence for a time before the thought struck Aoife. "My lady," she said, alarmed, "Is there anyone staying with Helga while Floki is away?"

"No," Lagertha replied, frown creasing her brow. "She is alone."

Aoife jumped up from the sand, grabbing the bow and quiver, the shieldmaiden following.

"I will go," Aoife stated, slinging the quiver over her shoulder. "I will make sure she is safe." Remembering another thing, she continued, "But Sigrun, wife of Halvar, and her daughter are hiding in their boat, out in the water. I told them I would return when it was safe to do so."

Lagertha nodded, clasping Aoife's shoulder.

"Do not worry," she assured the girl. "I will send someone to fetch them. Go to Helga. If I do not hear from you by nightfall, I will send a search party."

Aoife voiced her agreement, taking off at a jog towards the forest path that would lead her to the house of Floki. She did not want to imagine what the boatbuilder would do if he returned home only to find out something had happened to his lover. Aoife ran faster.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello, my loves! I'd like to thank those of you who reviewed the last chapter. _

_Guest reviewer who does not have an account, thank you for asking questions; you brought up a good point. What I had intended was for the spare bow to be an older one, with a lesser draw weight, that Torstein would have used when he was younger and not as strong. Although Aoife would typically use a bow with a lesser draw weight, it's not improbable that she would be able to use her master's old bow, at least for a time. Aoife may not be very large, but she grew up with a bow in her hand, therefore she would be quite strong in her back and shoulders, and adrenaline definitely would have helped her in this situation. If you have any more questions or criticisms, lay them on me!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Vikings!_

* * *

As the rush of adrenaline from earlier began to wane, the Celt found herself unable to keep up her quick pace. Fatigue swept through her all at once, forcing her to stop and rest for a few minutes before her resolve to continue lifted her to her feet once more.

Exhausted, Aoife trudged on, determined to make sure Helga was safe. A half hour later, the boatbuilder's home was finally within sight. Aoife heaved a sigh of relief but kept her guard up just in case there were enemies about. Cautious, she crept up to the cabin with an arrow nocked, eyes darting around for any sign of movement. Her stomach sank when she saw the door ajar.

"Helga?" she called out, alarmed, head turning every which way, searching for a sign of life around her. "Helga, are you here? It's Aoife!"

She was edging towards the door, wary, when the snap of a twig had her whirling around, bow drawn. A short distance away stood Helga, knife in hand. Her golden tresses and pale skin were both smeared with blood, but she seemed not to be in distress.

"Helga!" Aoife cried in relief, releasing the strain in the bow and returning the arrow to its quiver. "Are you alright?!"

The slender woman nodded, sheathing her knife.

"Most of them passed right by," she said, gesturing behind her, where the legs of two men could be seen past the corner of their barn. "These two heard the goats and came to look. Luckily, I was out gathering herbs, so I caught them by surprise."

All of the tension escaped Aoife's body, leaving her absolutely drained.

"Thank the gods," she sighed. "I've just come from Kattegat. The raiders killed two of the old fishermen before they made it to town, but everyone else is more or less unharmed. I wanted to make sure you were safe too."

Helga ran a hand through her pale, tangled locks, closing her eyes with a sigh.

"They killed one of the goats, but everything else is fine. I am unharmed."

"And I am relieved to hear it," Aoife said. "Perhaps it would be best if you returned to Kattegat with me. You can stay with Lagertha. You will be safe there if we are attacked again."

Helga shook her head. "I cannot leave. I must stay and harvest herbs before the snows come, and I have much work to do yet."

"Then I will stay with you," Aoife replied, adamant on seeing that she had some sort of protection. "I would rest easier knowing that you are safe, and I am sure Floki would as well."

It seemed that mentioning the girl's lover was the right thing to do, for Helga merely sighed and gave her assent. Thus, for the next week, Aoife remained with the boatbuilder's lover, helping her harvest and prepare herbs for cooking, healing, and religious rites. Twice a day, the women made the trek to Torstein's cabin to milk the cows and feed the animals. On one of these trips, they also paid a visit to Sigrun and her daughter, who were being looked after by Runa and Gerd. Aoife was pleased to see their bruises fading, and Runa even seemed less fatigued.

On the third day of the third week, as Helga and Aoife were returning from milking the cows, the blonde suddenly darted toward the small ledge that offered a clear view of the water beyond.

"Aoife," she shouted, eyes wide with excitement, "Come quickly! They have returned!"

Sure enough, when the Celt joined Helga on the ledge, she could see five boats trailing lazily toward Kattegat, led by the red-sailed vessel of Earl Ragnar.

"Come on!" Helga exclaimed, grasping Aoife's hand and pulling her down to the water, where a small sailboat was docked beside Floki's workshop. Filled with both elation and nervousness, the two women set off towards Kattegat.

Aoife admired the skill with which Helga navigated the boat and the ease with which it cut through the cool waters. In much less time than it would have taken to travel by land, they found themselves approaching the home of Runa, where they stopped for a moment to urge the shieldmaiden to join them. The short voyage was much easier on the pregnant woman than her trek on foot would have been and she was glad for it.

They arrived in Kattegat just moments after the last boat was moored. The docks were already crowded with eager families and friends of the raiding party, so Helga was forced to sail just past the docks to beach the boat; she and Aoife managed to pull it far enough onto the sand to keep it safe from a rising tide while Runa looked on, hands on the small of her back as she worked out a cramp.

"Look!" she shieldmaiden exclaimed with a smile as she looked towards the docks. Helga and Aoife straightened, puffing slightly from exertion. "It is Gerd with Sigrun and young Freyja! Let us join them!"

Aoife smiled when she caught sight of the three women as well, amused by Freyja's enthusiastic waving. The young girl ran to meet them, greeting first Aoife, then Helga and Runa, with tight hugs.

"Come!" she urged them, eyes bright with excitement. "Let us go see what treasures my father has found!"

She took Aoife's hand in hers and pulled her towards her mother and Gerd, who greeted them with smiles. As they began to weave their way down the docks, Aoife noticed a few members of the raiding parties following her with their eyes, scowling at the bow across her back. Since the day of the attack, Aoife had refused to go anywhere without it, determined to have some sort of protection for her and Helga.

Without a word, Runa, Gerd, Sigrun, Freyja, and Helga drew closer to the slave, encircling her and challenging the glares they received. Aoife felt her heart swell with emotion when Gerd even settled a threatening hand on the head of her axe in response to a Northman who dared take a step in their direction. Runa placed a hand on Aoife's shoulder as she stood beside her, offering her silent support.

The women held their ground when they caught sight of their Earl approaching, Floki and Torstein flanking him, with Rollo a few paces behind. Ragnar Lothbrok's eyes sparkled with curiosity as he took in the sight before him.

"And what is this?" he asked with a sly smile, eyes running over Aoife's bow and the protective stances of her new friends. "Why does this slave look prepared for battle?"

It was Gerd who answered.

"This slave has already seen her battle, Lord."

Floki made a sound of derision in the back of his throat.

"And what is that supposed to mean, woman?"

Before any of Aoife's protectors could reply, they were interrupted by the arrival of Lagertha, who was tailed by two of her shieldmaidens.

"My husband," she said with a smile that was slightly smug. "You missed out on quite a battle while you were gone."

The Earl crossed his arms, scrutinizing the blonde shieldmaiden.

"And what sort of battle did I miss here, my wife, while I was off winning gold enough to fill all of our boats?"

Lagertha pursed her lips.

"While you were gone, husband," she said coolly, slightly incensed that she had missed out on the last raid of the summer, "we were attacked."

Now the Earl looked concerned.

"How many?" he demanded. "Where did they come from? What happened? Tell me, Lagertha."

"We counted thirty," the shieldmaiden answered after a time. "Seven days past. Aoife was the first to encounter them, as far as I can tell."

All eyes jumped to the slave, who held her head high, woad tattoos stark against her pale cheekbones. She caught her master's eyes and saw concern there.

"They came from the South. She took her master's bow and defended his property," Lagertha continued, drawing the attention back to her. "As I have heard it from these women, she then saved Sigrun and Freyja, assisted Runa in killing her own attackers, and then helped defend Kattegat. She then left to make sure Helga was safe and has remained with her since."

Aoife could feel Floki's eyes on her, scrutinizing her from head to toe. After a moment, he let out a 'humph' and opened his arms to Helga, who immediately fell into them.

"Well then," Ragnar declared with a smile. "You have done well, slave. I am impressed."

Aoife bowed her head in acknowledgment and kept it lowered as the Earl and his brother passed her. It was only the touch of gentle hands on her shoulders that lifted her eyes to her master's.

"Aoife," he said, blue eyes searching her for any sign of injury. "Are you well? Were you hurt?"

The Celt shook her head, cheeks flushing under the weight of his gaze. She was touched beyond words to see the blue of the woad that remained on his face, just as she had painted it.

"No, master; I am unhurt." She turned her eyes to the ground once more, ears burning as she added, "I am glad that you have returned."

* * *

It was noisy in the great hall, as always, when Aoife entered it. When her master had been called away to help unload the boats, she had decided to offer assistance with healing the wounded. Three hours later, Eira, the town's ancient but formidable healer, had finally released her.

She caught sight of her master across the hall and was beginning to weave her way through the crowd towards him when she heard someone call her name.

"Aoife!" It was Sigrun, finally reunited with her husband.

"Hello Sigrun," Aoife answered with a smile. "Halvar. It is good to see you again."

The stocky Northman returned her greeting, green eyes bright.

"I wanted to thank you, Aoife," Halvar said, taking her hands in his. "I owe you a debt for protecting my wife and daughter." When Aoife opened her mouth to protest, he added with a wry smile, "I will repay it, no matter what you say. When the time comes, anything you ask of me, if it is in my power, I shall grant it."

Realizing that resistance was futile, Aoife merely bowed her head with a resigned chuckle and squeezed his hands.

"It was my pleasure to look after them," she said honestly. "It is not in me to stand by and let a friend be hurt if there is anything I can do to stop it."

Sigrun embraced the Celt before shooing her off to Torstein, who had caught sight of her and called her name across the hall. With one last smile at the pair, Aoife hurried over to her master just as the last of the raiding party carried off their share of the hoard.

"Aoife!" Torstein exclaimed, beaming up at her. She assumed from the rosy tint in his cheeks and the cup of ale in his hand that he had already started celebrating. "Come, sit! Have a drink!"

Aoife obeyed after setting the bow and quiver she still carried onto the floor, sliding onto the bench beside him and accepting the cup of ale that Helga offered her. Floki eyed her critically from across the table, as per usual, but Aoife had gotten used to his scrutiny and merely smiled at him, undaunted.

As the Earl made his way back to his chair –Aoife wasn't sure it could be aptly called a throne- and settled into it with his catlike grace, all eyes were drawn to him. Lagertha was absent, Aoife knew, because the baby had made her suddenly ill while she was helping tend to the wounded, so he was the only one up on the dais, the only one commanding attention without even having to say a word.

"Now," Ragnar exclaimed, opening his arms to the hall. "Is there anything else to address before we feast?"

Aoife was surprised when her master rose from his seat; in the few months that she had served him she had never seen him ask anything of the Earl in the great hall.

"Torstein! What matter do you wish to bring before me?"

The blonde Northman glanced down at Aoife, blue eyes bright in the dim light.

"I wish to petition for the freedom of my slave, Aoife," he said, eliciting gasps from the back of the crowd and cheers from those around the Celt. The woman in question sat in stunned silence, jaw dropped, as she stared up at her master.

The Earl's piercing eyes sparkled as he looked down upon his friend.

"And what is the reasoning behind this request, my friend?" he asked, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.

Torstein reached down and gently pulled Aoife to her feet. Her pale cheeks burned under the scrutinizing gazes of the people of Kattegat.

"This slave has singlehandedly and willingly defended my property. She saved the wife and child of one of your warriors, Lord, assisted one of your shieldmaidens, and helped defend the town from enemies. Not only that, but she took it upon herself to offer protection to one of my closest friends while also maintaining my property. She has done more for me in a few moons than many other slaves have done for their own masters in many seasons. I believe that she has earned the right to find her place here as a free woman."

Aoife gazed up at the blonde Northman with wide eyes, speechless. Hearing him speak of her with such praise brought warmth to her cheeks and a flutter to her heart. The entire hall had fallen entirely silent, watching their Earl.

"Very well," he said at length, settling back into his chair. "I grant this petition. Aoife is now a free woman."

Roars of approval filled the air, the loudest coming from the table behind them. Torstein beamed down at the Celt, who started back at him, stunned. Before she could form coherent words, however, Helga swept her into a large hug and whisked her off towards Runa and Gerd, who greeted her with hearty slaps on the back and pulled her down to sit between them.

* * *

"Helga," Aoife murmured to the girl beside her as they stood, watching those who were dancing around the floor.

"What is it?" she replied absently, eyes on her lover who was speaking with Torstein across the hall.

"Well," Aoife began, collecting her thoughts. "As a slave, I was my master's property, yes? Then should he not have had the power to release me without the Earl's permission?"

The corners of Helga's lips quirked upwards and her eyes glittered as she looked over at the Celt.

"Of course did," she answered. "But by petitioning Ragnar in front of everyone, he made certain that your status as a free woman cannot be challenged, ever."

Aoife turned her eyes back to Torstein, surprised once more.

"Why would he do that for me?" she murmured. "Why has he done so much for me when I cannot hope to repay him?"

Helga hid her smile by taking a sip of her ale.

"I think you already know the answer to that," she hummed before dancing away towards Floki, leaving her friend mystified.


End file.
